3 Out There
by pjstillnoon
Summary: Cal tangles himself in a web. Gillian refuses to get caught up with him but poison shuts down their system. Will the truth be an antidote? Slow poisons work where no one sees. Once they're deep seated, it's not easy to root them out.
1. Chapter 1

**Teaser**

She adds the last of the fresh herbs to their dinner and catches the flicker of her own bright red nails out of the corner of her eye as the blackberry on the kitchen counter starts its alert sequence to let her know there's an incoming call. She is distracted by it. The device vibrates in short static bursts before playing a tune, _The Ride of the Valkyries_ (because it's fun). Using the knife to scrape against the board, she finishes her task quickly, and reaches for her phone just as the first notes start to sound, B and then a C sharp. "Hi," she answers pleasantly, turning away from the roar of the extractor fan over the Napoli sauce.

"Hey babe, I'm pulling up now."

"Lovely," she smiles to herself and hangs up. She pours the red wine into the big bellied glasses; it has been decanted the precise amount of time. She knows exactly how to impress him. She knows all his buttons to push or undo, in any given situation, under any circumstance; she can read him like a book.

She stirs the pot, flicks back her hair, plasters that warm and welcoming kind of smile he finds so endearing on her lips. They're red too. So is her underwear. Everything must match. Everything has its place. And so does he. He has a role to play and lately, he hasn't been playing it very well. So tonight is a pinnacle moment for them. Either they're going to be ok from this point on, or she's going to make sure he's out in the cold. She won't be played. Not again.

There's a tap on the apartment door and she goes to answer it. She's wearing a tight black pencil skirt and a black shirt, part of her work 'uniform'. Now it will seem as though she's just got through the door but still went to the trouble of making him a thoroughly good meal, as well as picking up a bottle of his favourite wine from the store on her way. "Hi," she greets him as if she is genuinely pleased to see him.

"Hey babe," he walks over the threshold, gives her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek and then by passes her. "Something smells good," he notes from the kitchen. She follows him, her red fingernails trailing along the wall. He had his chance right then and he blew it.

She follows him, all demure and warm and not showing him that she's bothered and made up her mind. "Why don't you take the wine and go through to the dining room? I'll serve up now."

"Great, I'm starved!"

He takes the wine and leaves the room and she reaches for two of the polished white deep bowls from the cupboard where the rest of her designer dinner set his housed. Her kitchen is in charcoal greys and stainless steel; sophisticated and clean. There are no messy colours to contend with. She lifts the pasta from the pot of salted and oiled water. She holds it over the sink to let it drain, gives it a little shake to encourage the water out and then uses a large slotted spoon to portion the farfalle and conchiglie into each of the bowls; his slightly more because he's bigger than she is and also, she has to go to the gym after this to work off the guilt.

Her fingernails glint under the lights of the stove as she reaches for the bright red Napoli sauce. She uses another large spoon to dish out the amount she wants and then puts the pan down again. She goes to the cupboard and takes down a little folded up white square of paper that was hiding in the back, behind all the things he won't even touch, the things he mocks her for having; they're only vitamins. She takes the square and unfolds it and watches as the prepared white powder runs down the groove and falls in a nice neat pile on top of the sauce. Such a pretty contrast of pure white and gory red. She places the paper's corner into the flame of the gas, makes sure it's a light, and then takes it to the sink where it can finish being destroyed. She mixes the sauce thoroughly and spoons the rest of it onto his serving. There is just enough. She's planned this perfectly.

"Oh good I'm so hungry!" He just about salivates at the mouth as she comes in with both plates. Parmesan cheese has been freshly grated; a sprig of fresh basil has been saved as garnish.

She places the plate in front of him and he doesn't wait for her to sit before digging in to his meal. She smiles and sips her wine first and asks him how it is. He gives a vigorous nod of enthusiasm and an 'uh huh' in the back of his throat; his mouth is full and he can't talk right now. She puts her glass back down and picks up her fork delicately.

They eat in silence. He wolfs down his meal, gulps back his wine. She eats at a steady pace, all the time in the world, everything will happen in its own time. She can be patient. She's done this before and it always works out the way she wants it too. He doesn't offer to do the dishes. She knew he wouldn't. So it gives her the opportunity to clear away all the evidence. She scrubs the kitchen down like she would on any night, but this time, just that little bit more thoroughly.

He's watching television on the couch. She cuddles up next to him. He puts his heavy arm around her shoulder and she thinks for a fleeting moment, blood red lips pursed for a moment, that she might miss him. He smells nice and is clean and tidy. He's affectionate sometimes and listens to her just enough for her to think he might be interested. But there's always something that is 'off' between them. There is something about him that isn't what she is looking for. She tried changing him, moulding him in all those little ways that women attempt to do. But nope. He's unchangeable. And he started to get annoyed. So she backed off.

"I'm going to head out," she tells him with a kiss on his cheek. She leaves a faint outline of her mouth on his skin.

"Where are you off to?" He asks, his hand trails down her arm as she gets up. He looks up at her, his dark eyes in contradiction to her blues.

"The gym."

"Oh right," he responds and his interest is back with the television again. "Of course you are."

She goes to her bed room to change into her gym clothes. It's an old argument. He teases her about working out too much. She asks him what 'too much' could possibly entail. So she goes every night after work. Is that really a big deal? She wants to be fit and she wants to look good. She refuses to eat carbohydrates more than twice a week. It should tip him off that this is the third meal.

She tells him she'll be back in an hour and that he should stay at her place and wait for her. He gives her a smile and says he will; although on two occasions he's said that and left anyway. She goes to the door, the smile fading from her face. It could have been 'their' place. She asked and he refused. Said she was getting too clingy, that she was moving them forward too fast. She suspected he had someone else. What other logical explanation could there be for him not wanting her?

Her fingernails create a stark contrast against the gold of the doorknob of her front door. She walks down the corridor, takes the elevator down and strides out to her car. She spends half an hour at the gym and then she goes to see _him_. He's working of course. He works too much and he should really consider spending more time with his wife and kids. He's happy, she can tell, but he really could be so much happier if he was just as dedicated to his family as he was to this Naval hospital. She can see he's been promoted to Commander and she's proud of him. He doesn't recognise her. She's coloured her hair. So she can sit quite comfortably in the ER and watch him work, laugh with the nurses, save lives.

Twenty minutes later she gets up and goes back out to her car. It's spring, but it's still chilly and so she shivers now that her muscles have cooled. She wonders if that is a sign and thinks about the irony of _him_ saving lives. She drives home in her black sedan. Her fingernails seem to glow in the shadowed oranges of the streetlights. She's back right on time, when she said she would be; she is a woman of her word and always determined to uphold something when her mind is set to it.

She unlocks the door and pushes it open. He's lying on the couch. His eyes are closed like he is peaceful but if she has calculated this carefully, and she has, she knows it's not entirely what it seems. She puts her bag down by the door and crosses the room calmly. She leans over him, calls his name, gives him a little shake. He doesn't stir. She purses those blood red lips of hers and steps back to observe him. She gives a little smile. She stands and admires her handiwork for a moment. And then she reaches for her phone.

**Opening Credits**


	2. Chapter 2

**Act One**

"Just sign it."

"Why do you need me to sign it?"

"I'm not even sure why you're stalling. It's payroll. You sign it every fortnight," Gillian stands over Cal, waiting for him to sign the document. "Although, I also don't know why we have to go through this twice a month. Why won't you let me just set up an electronic signature?"

Cal looks up at her, his eyes studying; there's laughter there, as if he is enjoying this far too much. Or perhaps there is something he finds amusing that Gillian is missing. She almost checks to see if there is food on her face, clothes, teeth; but that would be playing into his hands. "What?" She finally asks him.

"You look nice today."

She's surprised and embarrassed almost immediately. "Don't."  
>"Don't what?" Cal asks with over exaggerated innocence. Gillian moves around his desk to put distance between them. "You know, with Em at her grandparents, I'll have the house to myself."<p>

"How long is she going for?" Gillian asks idly.

"A week."

"You'll miss her."

"I will. Might need some company." He gives her a grin.

She gives another embarrassed smile, trying to avoid his eyes as she puts even more distance between them and stops to stand on the opposite side of his desk. Cal quickly scrawls his signature and closes the file. He gets up. "How about dinner?"

"Tonight?"

"When Em's away. You and me. I'll cook," he starts to make his way around the desk as well.

There is a knock at the office door and they both turn to see who it is. "Sorry to interrupt," Anna steps forward. Two men follow her in. Cal catches Gillian's double take and looks himself. The tall white guy is non-descript, but the shorter Italian has dark hair, tanned skin, deep soulful eyes, soft features, and, as he gets closer Cal can see, thick dark eye lashes. He is beautiful. Even Cal finds himself staring. "These are Agents Kevingston and Russo," Anna makes introductions. Gillian gives Pretty Boy Russo a shy smile as they shake hands in greeting and introduce each other.

"We're wondering if you can help us with a case," Kevingston speaks.

"Depends on the case," Cal answers. Gillian's hand reaches out and gives his wrist a little squeeze. "I mean, I'm not under any obligation to help the FBI anymore," he sing-songs his words and gives a little rock side to side from his hips and it's as if he's standing in a playground going 'nah-nah-nah-nah'.

"We're aware of that Doctor Lightman. But this case as nothing to do with ADA Dillon," Kevingston's eyes are dark but cold, unlike Russo's, whose Gillian's eyes trail back to periodically. He's trying not to look at her too.

Cal's trying to ignore both of them. He gives a smirk. "What's it about then?"

"A serial," Kevingston takes the file under his arm and opens it. He hands it to Cal to take a look.

Gillian steps closer to read over Cal's shoulder. He turns his head slightly towards her as she leans in close. He can feel her body warmth and her scent washes over him and for a second he's forgotten completely what he's meant to be doing. Then he feels the weight of three pairs of eyes on him and he glances quickly over the file. A woman in her early thirties...

"Brenda Ward," Kevingston narrates. "Associated with the death of three men; San Diego, Florida, DC."

"She keeps moving," Gillian notes quickly. "After each attack?"

"It seems that way," Russo speaks up. Cal half expected him to have the soft lilting accent of an Italian native, but no, he was as American as the rest of them. Not him of course, but the other two. "Until now we haven't been able to get probable cause to search her place."  
>"What changed this time?" Cal asks studying the picture. She's attractive. Probably helps her lure them in.<p>

"Her latest victim, Vincent Patrick, was found at her apartment," Kevingston explains.

"Who called it in?" Gillian asks.

"She did," Russo finishes.

_Corridor outside of Cal's office. Day._

Cal leans with his elbows perched backwards on the front reception desk. He's waiting for her. She agreed to come in voluntarily. Cal wonders if she has any idea the FBI are investigating her. Usually psychopaths are acutely aware of the games they play, factoring in law enforcement would be a given. Predicting a human lie detector would not. Of course, she could be in the middle of a psychotic break, which would make the above point moot. Or completely innocent. Not likely. He's read over the file the FBI have put together. Gillian has too and she has an idea in her head about who this woman is. A profile. Cal refused to read it. He doesn't normally get into that kind of thing until after he's interviewed the suspect/witness/victim. He prefers to trust his gut instinct.

The front entrance door pushes open and Kevingston walks through. He looks like a clichéd FBI agent, dark suit, white shirt, tan overcoat. Cal watches the woman behind him; Russo is absent. She's wearing black; a form fitted dress, in the style of something Foster would wear. But that's where their similarities end. Brenda Ward is much shorter, blonde hair that has clearly come from a bottle, because the shade cannot be natural. It doesn't look ridiculous, and it's not bleached white, but Cal can tell that it's lighter than it would be if it were natural. He can just tell. There's something false about her.

As she gets closer he can see she has the desolateness of someone who is grieving. She holds her head a little too stiffly. Her eyes look worn. Her nails are painted bright red and her lipstick is disturbingly the same shade. Aside from the fact that she is immaculately made up, she looks a bit of a mess. That is, if you look beneath the surface, you can see the cracks. Cal is good at spotting the cracks.

Kevingston approaches. He makes introductions. Cal gives a curt nod. He sees a flicker of warmth in her eyes. He spreads his arm in indication. "Shall we?"

_Cube. Continued._

"First of all, we're sorry for your loss," Gillian is polite. Cal stares.

"Thank you," Brenda speaks in a gravelly kind of voice, not that of a smoker, but like she has a permanent cold that has distorted her voice. She folds her fingers carefully over each other on the table top; a controlled gesture. She has agreed to be here. She is not under arrest. She's not afraid.

"Why don't you walk us through the events of the evening of the fifteenth?" Gillian starts.

"I came home from work at my usual time, around six pm. I started dinner. Opened a bottle of wine. Vincent called me about twenty minutes later to say he had arrived. So I poured the wine and let him in. We had dinner. I did the dishes and Vincent watched TV. Then I went to the gym. When I came home..." she drifts off, her eyes fading out as she connects with the visual memory in her mind. "I found him on the couch. I checked for a pulse and then I called the emergency services."

Gillian takes notes while Brenda speaks. Cal, she notices, is oddly quiet beside her. But then, when had she ever known what he was going to do during an interview? It's not like he discussed his strategy with her beforehand. Gillian gives Brenda a reassuring smile and then asks her to tell the story backwards. Brenda's forehead creases into the slightest frown. Gillian doesn't explain why, she just sits patiently and waits for Brenda to continue.

Surprisingly, at least to Gillian, she does tell the story backwards in the same order, without omitting anything or hesitating. Which should have been an indication that her story was true. And it probably was. But that didn't mean she hadn't done a few other things in between those snippets of information. Vincent had died of a heart embolism. He was thirty four. He didn't smoke and was relatively fit. Something else had happened to him. Something, Gillian suspects, from the cold way in which Brenda speaks, that had something to do with her. She is too detached while speaking about someone she had been dating for nearly a year.

Cal sits like dead fleas might fall off him. He doesn't say a word. He rests his chin on his hand, his elbow on the table top and watches Brenda as she talks. Gillian notices as the interview wears on, that Brenda's attention drifts more and more often towards Cal. Then she starts in on small sub-conscious smiles and Gillian knows she has just lost any power she had in the situation. She finally glances over at Cal and finds he hasn't moved. She follows his line of sight. To Brenda's chest. Gillian feels a flush of embarrassed heat in her cheeks. Cal is flirting with the suspect! She doesn't know whether she should storm out and leave them to it, or carry on. If she stays she will be letting Cal use her. Or more, she will just feel like shit about it.

Gillian fidgets with her pen while Brenda and Cal, she doesn't even know how to describe it, share some sort of secret mental link. She suppresses a smile. His eyes drift lazily up to her face. Gillian makes her decision. She's not going to leave in an emotionally fuelled dramatic exit; she's not going to make a big scene. She pushes her chair out from the table and gets up. She takes her notes and her pen in hand and calmly leaves. She doesn't say anything. She doesn't look back. But as she gets outside in that one corner of the room at large in which the cameras don't peer, she hesitates. She has to take a steadying breath.

Gillian walks, composed again, around the edge of the cube to where Ria is sitting, watching. "Have you finished?" The younger woman asks as Gillian puts the pad of her notes down in front of her and turns to walk away again.

"Yes," she answers bluntly, not sure she's done enough to hide her hurt.

"What's Doctor Lightman doing?"

Staring, flirting, being inappropriate, inconsistent, confusing, callous...

"I'm not sure," Gillian answers and keeps on walking. She doesn't hear a response from Ria if she even gives one. She heads out of the door, her stomach feeling heavier with the more distance she puts between herself and the pair of them. Or is it just the more physical distance she puts between herself and Cal?

_Lightman Group corridor. Continued._

"Where'd you get to?" Cal asks as he approaches where Gillian is giving instructions to one of their data input specialists. He scanned photos and uploaded video footage for them, despite the fancy job title.

Gillian finishes talking and then turns to Cal. "Sorry?" She asks, eyebrows raised. She's being cordial, but Cal knows her well enough to see that just beneath that is her... anger, he decides on. She's angry.

"You walked out of the interview."

"You seemed to have in under control."

"Brenda's leaving now."

"Good," she responds sharply. "Did you get what you wanted?"

Cal gives a slight smirk. "I always get what I want."

"Not always," Gillian shoots back as she turns in perfect balance, quite literally on her heel. She starts to walk away as Brenda comes around the corner, escorted by Agent Kenvingston and she is forced to stop and smile and shake hands and make pleasantries. Cal watches her for a moment. She's ever the professional, warm when she has to be, firm when it's warranted, downright wilful when she needs to be. He saunters up beside her. Agent Kevingston's phone gloriously rings sending him a few paces away to answer. Cal can see the awkward set of Gillian's shoulders; she doesn't want to be alone with this woman. She knows there is something 'off' about her.

"All right darling?"

Gillian turns and Cal can sense her recoil before she even does it; he's not talking to her.

Brenda gives him one of those alluring smiles, her red lips are full and they pull in a kissable way. Her eyes give the slightest glint, flirty. "Yes thank you," she speaks politely in a unique husky kind of voice.

"I was thinking of getting a beer later after work." He watches her face for interest. It's there. So obviously. She puffs out as the words come from his mouth and caress her ears.

Next to him, Gillian stiffens. "Cal," she warns.

He ignores her. Makes a plan with Brenda. She's practically glowing out of her skin as they lightly debate time and place and then settle. Cal gives her his business card, in case she needs to get hold of him, even though he's pretty sure she would have made it a point to suss out the Lightman Group before she came. He gives her a grin, reigning in his smugness to confidence, not arrogance; he's aware of Gillian still standing next to him. He doesn't look at her face. He knows exactly what will be there and he doesn't want to see. He just wants to get on with it.

_The Lightman Group. Lab. Continued._

Gillian bursts into the room startling all employees within. She seems harassed, slightly out of breath, but given the events of last month, she is often more breathless than she should be as her body continues to readjust. "I want you to find me everything you can on Brenda Ward. I want the names of old acquaintances, jobs, addresses. I want a timeline of her life. I want the name of her dentist and the gym she goes to. I want everything..." She doesn't look at anyone in particular. As far as she's concerned every single one of them can drop everything they're doing to help her on this.

"I need to know everything."

_Lightman's office. Evening. _

"How could you?"

Cal gives a shrug.

"She's a suspect in an active case."

"Consider the case closed."

"How can you say that? Were you asleep during the interview? The cold calculating conversation?"

Cal narrows his eyes slightly at her, as if she is standing too far away for him to see clearly. She was _right there_. She had been all along. "Sometimes we see what we want to see."

"What?" Gillian asks him in clear exasperated disbelief. It looks as though a million questions pass through her mind to die against the narrow purse of her lips. "Never mind," she cuts him off before he can even think of an appropriate response to her sharp question. She walks out, no indication of where she's going or what she's planning next. She doesn't even say goodbye or goodnight or that she'll see him tomorrow. She just leaves and as the building starts to get sleepy in the evening, Cal has to bring up the security feed to watch her go home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Act Two**

"Back in two thousand and seven, Brenda Ward lived in San Diego," Loker has a little slideshow presentation going on and he clicks his remote as he talks Gillian through his and Torres' twenty four hours of intensive research. Brenda looked slightly different back then. She was carrying more weight and her hair was a medium brown. She looked plain at a first glance, but the more her image stared out at Gillian, the more Gillian could see, there was something about her eyes that was alluring, pretty even. The clock ticked in the back of her mind.

_Corridor. Earlier._

"What did you tell Agent Kevingston?" Gillian demands.

Cal looks over at her from his slouch against the wall with a lazy grin. "None of his business."

"It kind of is Cal," Gillian tries but he's not listening anymore. His gaze shifts to over her right shoulder and he straightens up and gives a more assured smile. Gillian turns. Ward has arrived for their 'date' or 'drinks' or 'whatever'. "Cal," she tries one more time, placing her hand on his arm as he starts to brush by her. He shrugs her off, doesn't look back and strides away as if she didn't exist.

_Lightman Group Lab. Evening._

"I spoke with co-workers," Torres takes over the commentary. "Who said she was in a stable relationship until her boyfriend was deployed for six months to the Persian Gulf."

"Army," Gillian notes.

"No Navy," Torres clarifies and gives her boss a slightly worried expression.

"The Gulf..." Loker starts and trails off at Torres' sharp expression.

She continues, "The co-workers didn't know his name, but knew he was a doctor and was a Navy reservist. They said after he left something changed with her. She became distant, didn't go out much..."

"How long did she stay in San Diego?" Gillian queries softly, her mind already thinking through the possibilities.

"Another year," Loker answers. "Then she moved to Florida. She requested a transfer through the company."

"So she gets to Floridia."

"Wait," Gillian stops them. "She just left San Diego? Why Florida?"

Loker looks at Torres and Torres looks at Loker and they're both silent. Gillian tears her attention away from the over sized picture of Brenda Ward up on the big screen. She looks at Torres and then Loker. She gives them an expression that says 'well!'

Loker gives a little frown. "Her work colleagues didn't say."

"What about on the transfer request paperwork?"

"Uh we couldn't get a copy."

"So call Agent Kevingston and get a copy."

_A Bar. Evening. _

They're sitting at the bar, drinks in front of them, smiling, as if they're sharing an amusing anecdote. Cal takes off his sports coating, making a remark about it being warm.

"Oh I love your tattoo," Brenda gushes, leaning into him, placing her hand over his arm that is resting on the bar.

"I love yours," Cal tells her with a dead straight face. He watches her red lips form into a coy smile. "What is it?"

Brenda takes her hand back, her lips twitching. "Why don't you come closer and have a look?"

_Lightman Group. Lab. Continued._

"Ok so I called Kevingston. He's going to send over a copy of their files," Loker announces as Gillian enters the room again.

"Good," she remarks, taking a seat this time.

"Florida," Loker reminds them.

"Right so she's in Florida for another year," Torres takes over relaying the information. "Relatively quiet. Keeps to herself. Within eighteen months she requests a transfer again."

"Which brings her here, to DC," Loker finishes.

"But why?" Gillian queries. "There has to be a reason why."

Torres and Loker exchange another surreptitious glance.

"People don't just up and leave their lives on a whim. There must be something that is triggering her to move on from these locations," Gillian gestures at the screen. "What about boyfriends?"

"Uh well," Loker hits a button on the remote and a new screen comes up. "There was Navy boy in San Diego. And Patrick here in DC."

"That's it?" Gillian is dubious. "She didn't at least date for four years?"

"I'll look into it," Loker responds dully.

_A Bar. Evening. Continued._

Brenda opens her shirt a little more and then holds up the sides to create a little privacy. Cal leans in to stare at her chest. "Oh right it's a spider," he muses. He gives her eyes a grin. "I wondered."

"I noticed you looking," Brenda flirts.

Cal manages to look abashed. "Clever design, sneaking out the top of your shirt."

Brenda gives him a smirk. "Keeps things interesting."

Cal raises an eyebrow.

"Have you got any hidden tattoos I should know about?" Brenda asks him, leaving her shirt unbuttoned.

"Nah just these ones," Cal gestures towards his arm, letting his eyes rake over her body so very obviously. He finishes his drink in a mouthful. "Fancy another?"

_Lightman Group. Lab. Continued._

"We're just scratching the surface," Gillian surmises. The screen is now a montage of photos, maps and scanned forms. She sits for a moment while Loker and Torres try not to look at each other and pretend to work. "Go home," Gillian suddenly announces and gets up from her chair. "We can pick it up tomorrow." She walks out.

"She's taking this way too personally," Torres notes.  
>"Anything to do with the fact that Lightman is on a date with the suspect?" Loker asks with a raised eyebrow.<p>

"Absolutely," Torres responds firmly.

_Street. Night. _

A couple stand near a wall kissing. Her hands are around the back of his neck, the fingernails painted bright red. He breaks to kiss her neck. "Why don't you come back to my place?" She whispers. "I wouldn't normally suggest this on a first date, but I feel like we have something special."

"Mm," he agrees.

She pulls his head back and looks him in the eye by streetlight. "I like you Doctor Lightman."

He gives her a slight grin. The headlights of a car wash over them. "That's your taxi." He steps back, his hands trailing down her arms. She looks annoyed, hurt, disappointed. "Hey come on," he takes her hands and pulls her from the wall. "I'm an old fashioned kind of guy." He puts an arm around her waist as he guides her over to the waiting car. "I want to get to know you before we rush anything. Can you deal with that?"

"Sure," she says but it is unconvincing and she forces a smile.

Cal turns her and they stand next to the back door of the vehicle. "Dinner. Thursday? So we can get to know each other properly?"

She gives him that small alluring smile of hers; demure agreement.

"You've got my number. Call to confirm," Cal tells her gently. "Or come by the office and pick me up."

"I'll do that," she agrees seemingly over the hurt of the previous moment.

"Perfect darling."


	4. Chapter 4

**Act Three**

Gillian looks at her watch as Cal strides by. "Are you leaving all ready?"

He turns abruptly, arms swinging wide. He gives her a grin. "What was that?"

"You're going home early?" She asks again, this time with dread. She knows that expression.

"Got a date," he answers with a brilliant smile. Gillian nods, trying to hide her sadness and not quite managing it.

"Hi Cal," Brenda comes up behind him.

He turns quickly. "Hi darling," he leans in to kiss her cheek.

"Ready to go?" She asks him but her eyes shoot to Gillian in defiance.

"Course," Cal responds, his arm already moving to drape around her shoulders.

"I thought Emily was coming home today?" Gillian asks, holding on to one of her last tethers. Emily should have been a subject that would draw Cal back in.

"Nope," Cal tells her abruptly. He turns to walk away while Gillian watches.

"Good night," she offers gently, talking to herself.

_Lightman Group. Lab. Evening. _

Gillian pushes on the door and walks in. "So where are we now?" She asks. Torres and Loker rush to close what they were working on and bring up the case they're putting together against Brenda Ward.

"She's health obsessed," Torres picks up where they have clearly left off. She explains how Brenda suddenly joined a gym while still in San Diego and dropped thirty pounds. She's also signed up to a gym in each of the other cities and works out for at least an hour every day.

"Or image obsessed," Loker cuts in. He displays a series of photographs. "Before San Diego." A quick succession of a different set. In these Brenda has transformed from plain; brown hair, cheap clothes, non-descript, to almost stunning; expensive clothes, dyed hair, flattering make-up. "And after San Diego."

"The death's she's associated with," Torres continues their discovery rapidly. "The FBI can't tie her to them because they can't find evidence that she was connected directly. Colleagues and neighbours attest to her dating someone, but no one ever really saw him."

"Like she was keeping him secret," Loker adds.

"But," Torres cuts back in. "There was at least one public sighting of her with each guy."

"She kept the relationships quiet," Gillian muses. "And how long did she date them for?"

"Well, estimating, based on the only public sightings of them together, I'd say around eight months to a year."

"How did they die?"

"Here's the interesting thing," Loker takes over again. "The first victim was admitted to hospital with a severe stomach ulcer. He worsened during his stay and then died suddenly."

"Victim number two died from a potassium overdose," Torres adds.

"Which brings us to victim number three," Loker brings up the image of Vincent Patrick. "Selenium poisoning."

"Selenium," Gillian muses. "How did he manage to overdose on selenium? It's found naturally in foods grown in soil containing selenium. To overdose he must have been taking it as a supplement."

"The police found no evidence of any vitamins or supplements at his home or work," Loker informs her.

"But they did at Ward's apartment," Gillian finishes. Loker looks surprised and impressed. "Right?" Gillian asks.

"Right," Torres agrees.

"She's poisoning them," Gillian announces but doesn't look pleased at all that she's figured Brenda Ward out.

_Restaurant. Evening._

"I liked the movie," Brenda announces as they take their menus from the waiter. She doesn't look up at the man at all. Cal gives him a nod in thanks and opens his. "Did you like the movie?"

"Yeah sure," Cal answers. "Want to get a bottle of wine?" He signals the waiter and brings him over before she can respond. He reels off the title of a merlot without consulting her and he can see out of the corner of his eye that she's steadily getting more annoyed. The waiter tells him he'll bring it right over. Cal thanks him and goes back to his menu, ignoring his dinner companion while she looks over at him.

"So who's Emily?" She asks bluntly, her menu abandoned.

"Oh," Cal barely glances up. "My daughter."

"You have a daughter?" Brenda asks him in disbelief. She's wearing a low cut black dress and the front two precursors to her tattoo are visible creeping up from her cleavage; as if the black spider really is there waiting to pounce.

"Yeah," Cal confirms. The waiter arrives with the wine and pours a sample for Cal to try. Cal decides he likes it. The waiter pours both of their glasses. He leaves the bottle and removes the unwanted vessels for white wine.

"How old is she?" Brenda asks once they're alone again. Her voice is sharp and demanding.

"Nearly eighteen," Cal answers casually as if this is no big deal, as if he hasn't revealed anything interesting about himself at all.

"Does she live with you?"

"Nah, she's up in Chicago with her mother. She comes to see me sometimes during the holidays," he gives a shrug. Brenda looks only slightly assuaged. "My ex can be a right bitch about me seeing her. But enough about me," Cal tells her with a smile. "What about you?"

"What about me?" Brenda responds sharply.

"You been married?"

"No of course not," she relaxes a little.

"No one serious?" Cal pushes sipping his wine.

"The occasional boyfriend here and there," her slight shoulder shrug gives her away.

Cal puts his wine back down on the table. "Beautiful woman like you," Cal starts. "Must have cut a sway through the men."

Brenda gives a bashful little smile. She's clearly very pleased with the compliment. She sips her wine too. "I know what you mean about crazy ex's though."

"Oh yeah?" Cal raises his eyebrows in interest.

"This one guy I dated, his ex wouldn't leave him alone. She was certifiable!"

"Is that right?" Cal leans in to show his interest. "Couldn't let go huh?"

"Didn't know when to back off and let go," Brenda tells him, her eyes narrowing slightly in anger.

"So what did you do?" Cal prompts.

"I let her know in no uncertain terms that she had her chance and it was mine now," she gives him a somewhat smug smile. "A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do."

_Lightman Group. Lab. Night._

"Now here's the really interesting bit," Loker announces his icing on the cake. "Each of the victims, assuming they are victims..."

"Assume away," Gillian interrupts dryly.

"Their ex-girlfriends reported to the police acts of vandalism to their personal property and vehicles during the time Ward was on the scene."

Gillian looks slightly disturbed by this news.

"Broken windows. Flat tyres," Loker goes on hesitantly.

"She's jealous," Gillian responds. "Did any of them die?"

"No but one had a suspicious car accident and broke her arm," Torres supplies.

"Suspicious?" Gillian asks.

"Something faulty with the mechanics of her car," Loker explains. "Which the police found interesting considering she has just had the car pass it's vehicle inspection."

"Ok," Gillian gets up. "There has to have been a catalyst, something that set her off in the first place."

_Apartment. Night. Continued._

A phone rings. "Sorry luv, let me just get this," Cal quickly digs in his pocket. "Yeah?" He gets up and takes it into the kitchen.

It's Gillian. "Cal I need to talk to you."

"About what?"

"Brenda Ward," Gillian steels herself.

"What about her?" Cal acts immediately uninterested.

"She's dangerous Cal."

"All women are dangerous," he tells her fidgeting a finger along the line where two cupboard doors meet.

Gillian is clearly affronted by that. It stops whatever was lined up next on her tongue to say.

"In one way or another," Cal finishes, his eyes searching around the room. Gillian takes a breath, prepares herself for what needs to be said. Cal cuts her off though, "Can we talk about this later? I've got a date."

"Cal it's important."

"I'm in the middle of something. I'll call you tomorrow." He hangs up on her and goes back to the living room where Brenda is waiting for him on her new couch.

"Who was that?" She asks with a smile on her bright red lips while her eyes accuse.

Cal rolls his eyes. "Loker. Wondering about a case we're working on."

"Oh," Brenda perks up again. Cal takes his seat. "Where were we?"

Cal gives her a slight grin. "About here," he leans in and she meets him lip for lip. They kiss. Brenda runs her bright red fingernails through his hair and along his shoulder. Cal's hand rests on the underside of her thigh. She starts to unbutton his shirt. Cal pulls away.

"Did I offend you?" Brenda asks, as if it is a joke.  
>"I told you," Cal takes her hands away. "I don't want to rush into bed with you."<p>

Brenda exaggerates a pout, her lips making a big red target. "What? You don't have sex?" she says it with borderline distaste.

"Course," Cal tells her gently. "I just, I've had a bit much and I would want to do you justice luv."

Brenda considers him for a moment. She looks annoyed and then she suddenly switches to a bright smile. "Why don't you stay over anyway? Here, on the couch. And in the morning we can have breakfast. I'll cook for you."

_Lightman Group. Lab. Late._

Torres sips her coffee. "What do you think is going on with her and Doctor Lightman?"

"He sees an easy target?" Loker responds.

"I meant with Doctor Foster."

"Oh," Loker looks over at her in surprise. "I don't..."

He's interrupted by the arrival of Gillian. "Agent Kensignton said he is going to send background on a Lieutenant Benjamin King."

"That's the guy she was seeing?" Torres queries

"He was deployed to the Persian Gulf in two thousand and seven on board the USS _Nimitz_," Gillian answers. "He's our best fit. And considering this case is a lot of guess work and assumptions..."

Loker clicks the mouse of his computer and a second later the service record of King shows up on the large screen. "How's this for irony," he commentates. "He's a doctor saving lives, and she's taking them away."

"He deployed," Gillian muses. "And she snapped. She disappeared for several weeks and then comes back a new person. New look, new hair colour, she's dropped several pounds. She starts dating again and then," she searches the screen in front of her with her finger lightly pointing the way. "The _Nimitz_ comes back into port and so she gets rid of her current boyfriend."

"To make way for the old one?" Loker asks.

"But he doesn't want her back," Torres adds.

"And so there's a period of limbo," Gillian finishes.

"Then he get's re-stationed in Florida."

"So she follows him," Gillian continues.

"To get back with him?" Torres asks.

"No. According to her work friends she never dated the Lieutenant again," Loker supplies.

"That doesn't mean she didn't try," Torres points out.

"Maybe she did and he rejected her again so she found herself an easy target," Loker expands.

"What about family?" Gillian suddenly suggests.

"I've made some calls to an Aunt but she hasn't returned any of them yet," Loker explains.

Gillian gives him an annoyed huff.

"You know it would be easier to get this work done if we didn't have to keep it secret from Lightman."

Ria shoots Loker a 'shut up' glare.

"I was just saying, it's hard to get anywhere when we're sneaking around behind Lightman's back."

"It helps that he's not around much then doesn't it?" Gillian notes as she gets up. She doesn't have to say 'tomorrow' or instruct them on what they should do next. They know. She's just checking in. It gives her something to think about. And something else to focus on now that...

"That's his fifth date this week," Gillian hears on her way out. She heads to her office and grabs her purse, trying so very hard to put that last overheard comment out of her mind. She's checking her phone as she heads out to her car. As she approaches she looks up. All four tyres are flat.


	5. Chapter 5

_AN: sorry kids, I can't update in the morning like I did for She's Gone, because I'm either asleep, or at work. You'd get chapters at all random times of the day/night. At least with the old system I can post at the same, consistent time... P.S thank you for all your reviews and words of encouragement. : ) Like the Doc said, I have the best readers, you guys 'think' about the story, not just the entertainment factor._

**Act Four**

Cal wakes to a figure standing over him and at first he's startled. His first instinct is to fight back. Then he remembers quite quickly where he is, based on the fact that the person standing over him has long blond hair and he has a crick in his neck from the awkward angle of the couch, which means he's not in bed and the woman standing over him is not Emily, and he is therefore not on the couch at home.

"Hi," she half whispers at him and he notes she's already brushed her teeth, and as his eyes focus a bit more, she's also 'made up'. Her lips are a bright red, her fingernails immaculate. "Can I make you something to eat?"

"Sure," Cal croaks. He clears his throat. "Something to eat would be great."

"How's your head?"

"A little wobbly. But I have a stomach of steel."

She pets his hair, her deadly red fingernails running through his shorter strands. "I'll make you some breakfast. Any preferences?"

"Nah. So long as there's coffee."

"Of course," she smiles demurely and slips away into the dim greyness.

_Black Van. FBI Surveillance Suite._

"You know if you ever tire of Doctor Lightman I would happily put in a good word for you with the bureau," Kevingston notes as they sit side by side in the small darkened space watching a grainy image of a man asleep on the couch. There is no audio feed so at the moment it is much like watching a still photograph. "Could use someone with your skills to work cases like this one."

Gillian doesn't respond. Her gaze is fixated on the figure on the couch. She can't tell if he's awake or asleep, but she was profoundly relieved when she found out that, taking her advice, Kevingston had authorised the use of cameras in Ward's apartment. Of course, finding out that Cal (or at least they were pretty sure it was Cal) was asleep on that couch made her heart jumpy and uncomfortable in ways she didn't have time to explore yet. After the team had drilled the fibre optic cameras into place, they couldn't tell if the man on the couch was alive or not. But then Brenda had got up and she had gone over to the sleeping figure and she had caressed his face lightly. It looked like they talked; the man moved; Gillian could tell it was Cal; his gestures and demeanour were recognisable to her a million miles away. After a brief discussion Brenda had gone to the kitchen. There was another camera in there too, the picture just as poor. Gillian's eyes travelled the short distance from the kitchen feed, to the living room feed. Brenda started cooking. Cal started to sit up.

He threw back his blanket and ran his hand over his neck, up over his hair, and down his face. He sat with his feet on the carpet and his head hung. He looked the picture of defeat, sitting in his undershirt and bare feet. Gillian fought down the compulsion to go to him. They weren't close right now, physically and emotionally. Watching him, she felt sadder. The silence of the feed seemed to compound what both of them were feeling. Not that Gillian was sure what the hell Cal was doing anymore.

Brenda moved from the kitchen, with a coffee mug in her hand, back to the living room. Cal's head came up as soon as she was in the room and his shoulders dropped back into his usual relaxed confident posture. He took the mug. They spoke again. He was probably thanking her. Or, Gillian knew from experience, offering to help cook. Brenda left the room and Cal sipped his coffee and rubbed his eyes again. Watching him like this, she felt like she was invading his personal sanctum. But this was for his safety, she rationalised to herself. She was doing this for his best interests.

The radio next to Kevingston's elbow squarked a distorted voice and then a short clip of static. He picked it up. "Not yet. Hold positions. Be alert. Subject is on the move. There is potential for action as discussed in the brief." He put the radio down again. "Of course this could be a giant waste of our time." He looks over at her. "Are you sure she's going to try something?"

She wasn't. But she lied. "I'm sure," Gillian gives a firm nod. "It fits the pattern. When she doesn't get what she wants with men she starts a slow poison. But she's gradually escalating. The timeline between deaths is getting shorter as she gets more frustrated."

"And all of this over a long lost love?"

"It's more complicated than that. When he chose the Navy over her she felt an acute sense of rejection. She felt she wasn't good enough for him to stay around. So she made herself up to be a new person and this new persona is slowly taking her over. Her personality has fractured and she's lost her grip on what is morally right and wrong."

On the screen, Brenda is taking items out of her fridge; eggs, bacon, butter, milk, tomatoes, bread.

"So she's going to snap?"

"No. She'll make a mistake; a bigger gesture. She wants to see certain reactions out of the men she dates. She wants them to dote on her, to make he feel better. Sex is one of those ways in which she thinks a man shows that he loves her and one of the ways in which she can control them. Her transformation was about control. Cal refused to sleep with her last night. She can't control him. He's an unknown quantum. She feels rejected. She will feel like she's bitten off more than she can chew with him because he won't conform. So she needs to get rid of him. She won't let it get to the point where he wants to leave her; that will just compound her rejection. So she's going to act now. She's getting more desperate to feel something and take that control back."

Brenda placed a pan on the gas and started prepping the breakfast foods.

"Your profiling skills helped us to build the most solid leads we've had on this case," Kevingston notes. "Especially if you're right about what she does next," he gestured to the screen.

Gillian sits beside him and says nothing. It's bitter, moments like these, when she's juxtaposed against flattery and insecurity. On the other monitor Cal sits back on the couch, his coffee resting on his thigh in a delicate balance. He looks over to the windows thoughtfully and then it almost, almost seems as though he looks up at them, right into the eye of the camera. Kevingston's hand twitches towards his radio, but Cal's gaze moves on again and the agent relaxes.

_Apartment Kitchen. Morning. Continued._

She cuts a cross into the top of the fire engine red tomatoes and places them on a tray and into the oven. She mixes eggs in a bowl, with salt and pepper, a splash of milk, dried oregano and paprika. She toasts bread. And then when everything is set to task, she goes to the cupboard and selects a bottle from the shelf. She studies the label for a moment.

_FBI Surveillance Van. Continued._

"All agents, standby."

"Don't go yet," Gillian warns.

"Doctor Foster, with respect, I know how to do my job," Kevingston tells her firmly.

"And I know Ms Ward will spook if you interrupt her. You have to catch her in the act otherwise you have no evidence. And seeing as you don't have any hard evidence you're never going to make the charges of the other murders stick unless you have her attempt this one."

"You want me to let her poison Doctor Lightman?" Kevingston sounds incredulous. He gives her a side way glance, his hand still poised on his radio.

"He would understand," Gillian finally lets slip, though she doesn't seem happy about it in the least. "And if the other incidents are anything to go by, she's only going to give him a large dose of a vitamin or mineral."

"That won't kill him?"

"Not initially. It's a prolonged build up that does the damage."

"I don't really want an innocent civilian to be some guinea pig so I can make my case."

"Neither do I, but Cal is hardly innocent."

"What is with you and Doctor Lightman? You two clearly have a history."

"Was that pertinent to the case?" Gillian reprimands him lightly. She can feel his eyes on her but she refuses to look away from the monitor. Whether that's to do with embarrassment, Cal's safety or wanting to prove she is right about Brenda Ward, she's not sure.

"It could be, depending on what you do next."

_Apartment. Morning. Continued._

She slips six of the tablets out of the bottle and pulls a mortar and pestle from the side of the bench. She drops the tablets into the mortar and starts to crush them. She checks over her shoulder but he seems to be staying put on the couch. At least he can manage one thing she asks him to do when he has failed so miserably at all the others. The soft tablets crumble easily under the weight of the pestle and it doesn't take long to reduce them to dust. She quickly pours half the mixture of eggs into the hot pan and cooks her eggs. She then dumps the white powder into the remaining egg mix and sets them to cook while she butters bread and serves up the rest of the food.

FBI surveillance Van. Continued.

"All units go," Kevingston speaks as he gets up. "You," he points to Gillian who has started to get up. "Stay here."

Gillian starts to protest.

_Apartment. Morning. Continued._

"This is really good," Cal compliments as he leans over his plate. They're sitting on the couch, using the coffee table as a dining table. "It's been so long since someone's cooked me breakfast."

Brenda gives him a smile. She cuts her meal into small delicate squares, her fingernails a glaring distraction against the pale skin of her hands, the bland colours of her apartment.

"What should we do today?" Cal asks her looking over.

"That depends on how you feel," she tells him. Cal looks over at her, curious, trying to hide any sense of alarm. "Your head," she clarifies with a toying smile.

"Right," Cal agrees. "Although I reckon after this I'm going to feel a lot better."

Brenda doesn't answer. Her red lips twist into another coy smile.

There's a sharp rap on the door, a pounding fist, incessant. They both whip their heads around in surprise as a voice starts to call up. "Brenda Ward! Open up! FBI!"

"Bloody hell," Cal murmurs his surprise, his hands poised over his meal with cutlery grasped within each set of fingers.

Brenda quickly puts her knife and fork down on her plate. She gets up and rapidly makes her way to the front door as the pounding starts up again. "Ma'am! Open up please!"

She pulls the lock on the door and twists the knob. Several men burst through the door causing her to stumble back out of their way. One of them takes her by the shoulder and pushes her up against the wall. Two others, dressed in black special operations gear, sweep through the apartment with guns raised. Cal's cutlery crashes to his plate as he puts his hands up high to show he's unarmed and gets to his feet. Agent Kevingston comes through the door last as the special ops clad men announce the apartment is clear. From the wall, Brenda is asking them what the hell they're doing there. The same question is on Cal's mind but he finds he can't form words.

Kevingston strides right up to Cal, "How much did you eat?"

"Of what?" Cal asks surprised. They look down at his plate. "I thought it was in the coffee." His mug is still full. From the wall, Brenda, who is being patted down while her rights are being read to her, protests that they can't do this to her.

"You knew?" Kevingston is surprised.

"What did she give me?" Cal asks with a dry mouth.

"Whatever it was, it was in the eggs," the agent tells him. He calls another agent closer and instructs him to gather the evidence from the kitchen immediately. Cal looks down at his plate. There is a piece of toast left and half the tomato; he's eaten all the eggs already. Kevingston turns back to Cal. "Come with me, we'll take you to a hospital to get checked out."

Cal starts to numbly follow after the agent when a commotion erupts by the front entrance way. Brenda pushes an agent away from her, turns and delivers a swift kick to his shins. The agent doubles over in surprised pain. Two other agents move in to subdue her as Agent Kevingston also calls for them to restrain her properly. She swings wide arms, lashing out, raising her voice to yell at them to stay away from her, that she hasn't done anything wrong. Cal steps back out of the way of her tantrum while agents move in to pin her down. And then he doubles over in pain. A crippling spasm of his stomach drops him into a crouch. In the hubbub of Brenda Ward demanding attention, Cal is forgotten for a moment. Panic and fear washes over him. He has no idea what she put in his food and he's scared again as the pain in his stomach gets stronger.

Then, the familiar pace of someone else approaching quickly. Black pumps come into view, followed by calves he fantasises about and the relief he feels almost soothes the aching in his gut. A hand comes down to rest on the back of his shoulder. "Cal, are you ok?" Her voice is high pitched and strained. Cal doesn't look up. Brenda Ward is finally pushed to the carpet by firm hands and all Cal can see is the blood red poison of her deadly mouth and hands.

_Providence Hospital. Emergency Department. _

A nurse is taking blood from Cal. He's sitting up on the edge of his bed. He has a hospital gown over his front, but it is open in the back, and he still has his jeans on. He's barefoot, having been whisked immediately from the apartment to the hospital. The nurse places the vial on a tray next to her and re-fixes the IV line. Cal watches her work silently. She gives him a forced smile as she takes the blood and leaves the cubicle again.

A new figure walks in, heels clicking in that familiar gait. Cal's head comes up and spots her immediately and gives her a smile. "Should probably thank you for saving my ass again."

She doesn't respond, just places her bag on the end of the bed, her light spring appropriate coat over the top of it. She seems determined and something is clearly on her mind.

"Doc says I'm going to be fine," Cal tells her. "After this," he waves his arm with the intravenous fluids being pumped slowly into his system to counteract the effects of the vitamin overload. "Should be out of here in a few hours."

Gillian finally looks up at him, and it's like she's hardened herself in to steel. Her mouth is drawn tight, her eyes cold and distant. "Agent Kevingston informed me you knew Brenda Ward poisoned her victims."

Cal was expecting something, but not that. "I," he starts to answer.

"A long con Cal? Really? Again? How about cluing me into it huh? You could have died..."

"I made sure she never cooked for me until now."

"You knew," Gillian surmises.

"They're only vitamins. This is a precaution," Cal waved his arm again.

"Do you even care at all?"

Cal gives her a frown of confusion. "Of course I care," he tells her though he doesn't seem sure what he's meant to be caring about.

"Do you remember when we went down to Norfolk? And they detained you for twenty-four hours? And I drove myself insane with worrying about you? And you promised me," her voice waivers slightly. She steadies herself again in a quick second. "You promised me you wouldn't scare me anymore?"

Cal's face falls slightly. "Mitigating circumstances," he tries.

Gillian holds up a hand to cut him off and turns her head slightly as if she can't stand to look at him. "You told me you weren't going to do it anymore," she reaffirms. And then she gives him a steady expression that makes Cal feel cold inside. She steps forward, her case now completed, to take her purse and coat and turns to walk out again.

"Gill wait," Cal tries but she keeps going through the doorframe without even hesitating and he finds he can't follow after her because of the needle in his arm.


	6. Chapter 6

AN: sorry guys. I'm very tired at the moment. Should be correct now.

P.S this was a muse collaborated fic and definitely one of my favourites :)

**Act Five**

There is another knock on the door as Gillian approaches it. "Yeah," she calls through the wood, to let whoever is there know that she is there too. She unlocks it and pulls it open to reveal a gush of cool spring air and Cal standing on the other side.

"Hi," he greets simply.

"Hi," Gillian echoes. She doesn't move to let him in. So Cal asks if he can. "I don't really feel like company right now," she tells him gently.

"Are you not alone?" Cal queries.

"No," she responds too quickly.

"I want to talk."

"I don't feel like talking."

Cal steps up to the door frames and pushes his way inside. Gillian doesn't resist but she doesn't move out of his way either and so his chest presses against hers as he makes his way inside. He's warm. "Bought you a peace offering," Cal gestures a bottle of red wine in her direction as he moves past her. He disappears into the house and Gillian resigns herself to the fact that she won't be able to get rid of him until he's said what he came to say, nor did she try very hard to dismiss him in the first place. She closes the front door and moves into her living room. Cal must have moved quickly, because he's already been to the kitchen to get wine glasses and he's in the process of removing his light sports coat. When she comes in he takes the wine from her again and opens it.

"Should you really be drinking?" Gillian queries as he pours.

"I'm fine," he tells her.

"Of course you are," she responds under her breath as she takes a seat on the far side of the couch. The distance is not lost on Cal. The air between them grows thick.

"You didn't give me a chance to explain," Cal starts, sounding almost like he is accusing her. He puts the bottle down, picks up her glass and comes to sit next to her, close, his leg bent across the cushion so he is facing her. He hands her one of the drinks and she watches him almost suspiciously. "Every minute of that case was pure torture for me."

Gillian double blinks in surprise. She grips her glass stem with both hands lest she drop it, or her suddenly slightly shaking fingers give her shock away.

"Torture," Cal repeats with meaning, staring her dead in the eye. He's not even reading her features.

"For me too," Gillian lets slip so quietly it's practically a whisper.

Cal shifts a little closer and his hand comes to rest on her knee that is up in the air, her foot on the cushion. It was meant to act like a barrier between them, but those kinds of physical cues have never stopped Cal in his tracks for long. "Gill, I want you to know, I never meant to hurt you with this case. It was a delicate game..."

"Those games hurt me sometimes."

"I don't mean to."

"I know. But..."

"Go on," Cal urges sincerely.

"After what we talked about in Norfolk?"

"I know, I know," Cal gives a slight wince. "But... I read your profile on Ward. You know what happened was the right thing."

"Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt me. Especially when I find out that it was a con for you all along and I didn't know. I feel like you play me too."

"I rely on playing you," Cal says hesitantly. "I need you to react the way you do to make the con work. To sell it."

"React how?" She gives a wry smile.

Cal wants to smile because she is, but this is not something he should find amusing. "I knew you would refuse to be alright with what I was doing."

"Why?" Gillian immediately asks affronted. "You think I would be jealous?"

"No," Cal corrects her carefully. "I knew you would see through her." He pauses. "Why? Were you jealous?"

"No," Gillian scoffs although she's not sure. "You didn't see through her."

"I saw through her the minute she walked through the door."

"Of course you did," Gillian responds drolly rolling her eyes.

"I knew you wouldn't let it go. You would push the investigation forward. I rely on you having my back at all times. I felt terrible for distancing us," he ploughs on, not entirely sure which part of this is meant to assuage her, but knowing somewhere in the mess of his words she would find some comfort on some level. "But I did that to make sure she wouldn't hurt you too. She oozed jealousy when you were around. I even called Em to get her to stay with her grandparents just a few days longer."

Gillian looks surprised at this.

"But I couldn't tell you that, because then you'd know," Cal continues. "Without that drive, without your insistence... Every little element of the con worked out in the best possible way." He implores with his eyes. He wants her to understand, but words are not his friend. He's unable to put together the right combination for her; just her, everyone else he's fine with. It's only Gillian that tangles his tongue in a web of confusion.

Cal repositions himself, as if to physically shake off the last topic of conversation. "I'm still trying to work all of this out. Sometimes we're close and it feels great and then something happens and you pull away from me so abruptly," he stops and seems to gather his thoughts. He gets a little closer, so his leg is resting firmly along the length of her thigh and her ass. "The thing is. I'm not sure where we stand. We talk about some things but not others and sometimes you kiss me, but you won't let me kiss you. I can feel something happening but I don't exactly know what it is..."

Gillian suddenly leans towards him, bringing her hand to cup around the back of his neck, so he can't move away in surprise. She kisses him. But it's not the sweet kiss she gave him several months ago, this one is firm, its hot, it makes Cal forget to breathe, it makes Gillian's heart beat so hard she's sure her blood is visible pulsing beneath her skin. She breaks away and lets go of him and it takes them both a stunned second to gather their wits again. "Is that clearer for you?" She asks, her voice raw with overwhelming emotion.

Cal gives a brisk nod. "Very clear," he forces out and clears his throat. "Very clear," he repeats more surely, while Gillian takes a large gulp of her wine and avoids his eye. "Gill..." Cal starts again. "I." And he stops. "I don't know what to say," he admits. His hazel eyes are wide.

"Every time you get into trouble... I can't handle that anymore. Not after what happened with me and Zoe. And then every time you say to me that you won't do it again, that things are different now, and then you run off again without a second thought to me or your safety..."

"I know," Cal agrees quietly. "I keep saying it but I'm yet to act on it."

Gillian is clearly stunned. She sits there and would have done a double take if she hadn't actually already been looking at him. Cal swallows his wine in two large gulps and sets the glass on the table nearby to refill it. "Should you really be drinking?" Gillian asks warily again.

"Doc didn't say I couldn't," Cal mumbles as he pours. Gillian finishes her wine and taps the glass against his shoulder. Cal takes it and fills it more than last time; he empties the last millilitres into his own glass.

"Do you need to drink to be able to talk to me?"

Cal's mouth twitches. "I need a drink to talk about this stuff." He puts the bottle down.

"Is it that hard?"

"No," he looks over at her as he hands her, her glass back. "Just scares me."

"Because?" Gillian prompts.

"This is..." he waves a hand as he searches for the word. "Significant."

"Significant." Gillian repeats.

"Life altering, big deal kind of stuff." He gives her a studying expression, as if he is testing the waters with her. "After that kiss..." his mouth twitches a little further into a smile. "I'd be an idiot to think this is anything but."

"This?"

"You and me."

"Ok," Gillian nods. "We're on the same page. I'm glad."

"Are we on the same page?" Cal takes up his position again; close, hand on her leg, his expression intense, the heat coming off his body palpable. "What does the kiss mean?"

"What do you want it to mean?" Gillian asks sounding worried.

"I want it to mean that..." he hesitates and looks away to think. He looks back to her, unsure, almost begging her to give him the answer.

"What do _you_ want it to _mean_ Cal?"

"Something," he tries and winces again. "God I'm bloody terrible at this." He turns to reach for his wine glass again, taking another big gulp. "I want it to mean that you actually like me and I like you."

Gillian gives him a slight smile. He's so very adorable right now. "I do like you Cal."

He gives a grin. "Good." Then it fades quickly. "In _that_ way though right?"

"Yes Cal, in _that_ way."

His grin is back. He sips his wine. "Good," he gives a nod. Gillian sips hers around a silly smile. "I like you in that way too. Very much."

"I figured."

Cal raises his eyebrows. "Oh did you now?"

"Uh huh," Gillian nods. "You don't kiss a friend that way."

Cal gives her another grin; this one stupid and unabashed and confident again. He finishes his second glass of wine. "So now what?"

Gillian gives a little sigh. "I'm not sure."

"You have second thoughts?" Cal is worried again.

"No. But I don't want to rush anything."

"You mean, you want to see that I really have changed before you jump in with both feet?"

"Is that so bad?" Gillian retorts lightly.

"No. It's probably a very sane idea. A safe idea. You should do that," Cal suddenly seems sure. "We should take time."

"To get to know each other?" Gillian seems mildly amused.

"Yes."

"You realise we've known each other for over seven years?"

"Has it been that long?" Cal asks, eyebrows and voice raised.

"It has," Gillian smiles.

Cal gets closer, so he's leaning into her. Gillian places a hand on his shoulder but not to push him away. "But you want to take this slowly?" He asks, eyebrows raised, he knows the answer already. He studies her face anyway and she gives a slight nod. He nods too, mimicking her. "I'm all right with that. I want for us to get this right. No rushing into it and it blowing up in our faces."

She gives him a small smile. Her cheeks have reddened and her eyes glow in the sweetest way. Cal stares at her for a long time, taking in her features. "You're staring," she whispers. It's hard to tell if it's the wine, the topic or that he's sitting so close to her, that is making her feel so warm.

"I've been staring for seven years," Cal whispers back.

Gillian leans towards him slightly and Cal leans towards her. She moves a little bit closer, her eyes flickering between his eyes and his mouth, daring him to kiss her this time. Cal closes the distance slowly and he seems to sigh against her, to relax fully, to want to fall into her completely. Their mouths press together tightly. Just as they simultaneously open their mouths, with twin pulls in each of their stomachs, and sharp intakes of breath, Cal brings his arm around to curl his fingers around the back of her neck. He knocks her wine glass down the front of her chest.

"Oh!" Gillian pulls back abruptly.

"Oh," Cal repeats. "Sorry luv!" He moves back quickly to give her space.

"It's ok," Gillian tells him gently as she leans to pull the fabric of her shirt away from her body. Cal takes her now empty wine glass from her hand and puts it down on the coffee table next to his.

"Have I ruined a favourite shirt?"

"I'll put it in the wash right away and it should be fine."

"Do me a favour?"

"What?" Gillian asks him as she gets up.

"Take your shirt off in here."

She shoots him a smirk as she leaves the room. Cal grins after her and then his expression turns thoughtful. He runs his hands over his face as if he is tired, or defeated.

_Gillian's Apartment. Bedroom. Night._

Gillian binds the ties on her pyjama bottoms into a bow and catches her reflection in the mirror. She runs her fingers over her red lips and her eyes stray to the door. She gives a little pleased smile. She readjusts her white tank top and stoops to pick up her wine stained clothes. She takes them to the laundry and makes her way back to the living room. Cal has stretched out on the couch, using the arm of one end as a pillow for his head. His eyes are closed and Gillian watches him for a moment.

"Now who's staring?" Cal speaks quietly.

"Are you staying?"

"Either that or I'll have to call a taxi."

"Hmm," Gillian muses as she gets closer to him. She turns out a light as she goes by, making the room that much dimmer.

"Cos that wine has gone right to my head."

"Move over," she tells him softly and he inches his hip away from the back of the couch, creating a small gap for her to fit in. Gillian climbs over him.

"Wait," Cal speaks again. "If I open my eyes are you going to be naked?"

"No," Gillian scoffs.

"Then I'll keep them closed."

She gives a small smile in response as she positions herself against his side. Cal turns slightly to give her more room and forces his knee between hers gently. He shifts his arm to wrap around her shoulders and she lowers herself so her head is resting in the crook of his neck. Cal's other hand comes to rest on her waist. "This is nice," Cal murmurs.

"Is this ok?" She asks him cautiously.

"It's very ok."

"Ok," she whispers.

"Although you don't have to stay. You have a perfectly comfortable bed in the other room."

"And you want to join me there?" She guesses.

"I'd be lying if I said I didn't. But, you know, I'd have the decency to buy you dinner first."

Gillian gives a light chuckle despite herself.

"I should warn you darling, I get handsy in my sleep," Cal murmurs, already starting to drift off. "Specially if I've been drinking."

"I shall extricate myself later then."

"All right. Good plan."

"You'll be here when I wake up though?"

"Yes. So long as you promise me one thing?"

"Depends what it is."

"I love that," Cal replies sardonically. "No trust."

"What do you want me to promise?" Gillian prompts.

"That you won't slip anything into my breakfast in the morning," Cal answers.


End file.
